


The Butterfly Effect

by guccimonster



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adultery, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Betrayal, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Conspiracy, Crossing Timelines, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Rating May Change, Romance, Secrets, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccimonster/pseuds/guccimonster
Summary: On a night of ordained kismet, defying the laws of time and the balance of history, a phenomenon known as the 'Butterfly Effect' sets into motion when a hero of ancient myth is summoned into the world of King Arthur.The works of romance, tragedy, and medieval literature in the Arthurian Legends will play out between two kings who will swim against the flow of their fate and grow their destinies in a dream where flowers of romance could not bloom only until now.





	1. When We Were Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is my first work in the Gilgamesh/Arturia community. I have big plans for this story, so buckle up and prepare for a bumpy ride!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had prayed for absolution by her bed every night, sometimes all night, but the absence of answers, when no matter how much she prayed, pleaded, asked, when every time she woke with the same realization that nothing was going to change, had thus pushed her away from the light of God and from the gates of heaven, and into the bristles and thorns of a hellfire.

_"My King, the Saxons make advances to our borders,"_

_"King Arthur, how do you plan to defeat the Saxons?"_

_"What will you do, Arthur?"_

_"Arthur, we need answers,"_

_"When shall this farce cease, King Arthur?"_

Arturia kneaded her forehead to help ease her headache, and she leaned back in her chair, heaving a deep breath.

" _Silence_. My head is ringing from your endless questions that I have yet to answer."

Arturia crossed her legs underneath the roundtable and rolled her head in a circle to loosen her neck muscles.

The quietness was like a melody, a tune that played and danced in the field, a song that caressed the long grass and echoed with the wind that flowed through her hair and brushed her skin with the lightest breeze.

Then the wonderful quietude was shattered, shredded, and replaced by the sound of a deep, thick, yet a firm and Celtic voice that belonged to one of her senior knights, “If I may rise,"

Arturia glanced at the only knight that stood. _Sir Agravain_ ; tall, with wrinkles betraying his service and his cold, dark eyes that hid a lifetime of secrets before his allegiance to her.

“Do as you may, Agravain." Arturia nodded, letting him continue.

"Thank you, Arthur," Agravain lowered his head in courtesy.

She noticed his black stubble, screening his cheeks with short, stiff facial hair that grew as a result of the long nights of planning, scouting, and tracking the movement of their enemy who robbed them of their sleep, their welfare, and their peace.

"We are aware that the Anglo-Saxons have been taking more territory after the fall of Vortigern–"

_"Tell us something we don't know,"_ A voice muttered, too indistinct to hear. 

Arturia, despite the low barrier, heard it, however, she let it pass.

"–And we know their numbers have been increasing over these past few days,"

"Get to the point, Sir Agravain," Arturia pressed him. 

Agravain’s eye twitched, in a form of irritation, then cleared his throat, "If this keeps up, we will lose the western sea, and you know our own troops cannot hold a candle to the Saxons. It's only a matter of time until they take the piers. Rather than idling around like trapped mice, we must call out to our allied kingdoms and recruit more soldiers as soon as possible,"

“Absolutely not,” She immediately objected.

“And why is that, King Arthur?” Agravain’s hands which were neatly folded and remained at the table clenched almost _imperceptibly_.

"You _daresay_ that I, _King Arthur_ , seek another country for help against a battle that is my own?"

"You are being unreasonable, Arthur," Another rose from his seat as well, this time, it was Sir Lancelot, "We need to think of our kingdom,"

"I _am_ thinking of our kingdom," Arturia insisted, shooting daggers at the accusing men, "But I will not show the Saxons that we are so desperate that we are ready to beg for help. We will look like _fools_."

"Never mind our image, this is _rubbish_ , you believe that you can keep back their forces on your own?" Agravain demanded, his eyes bore into her, a provocation clear in his gaze as if he was prepared to take her throne then and there. 

"I believe we can," Arturia admitted, meeting him with one of her own glares.

Agravain hit the table with his palm and looked around at his fellow knights, "This is nonsense, _and_   _plain suicide_ , are you all going to concur with this drivel?!"

Then, another knight nearby Arturia stood, aqua blue eyes blazing, young and driven with loyalty, " _Still your tongue_ , Sir Agravain, those are the King's words that you _dare_ to mock."

She raised her hand before an argument could break out between the brothers, smoothening her expression once more. A kingly facade and an emotionless cover masked her true self, "Sit down, Sir Gawain, this is not a place to quarrel."

Gawain obeyed her without objection and dropped his head as he took his seat.

Agravain gripped the table and dug his nails into the wood, "Then, let me ask you this, King Arthur, what will you do once those scoundrels infiltrate our harbors?"

Arturia's palms were clammy, and she rubbed them against her dress to wipe them.

"As of now, I have my men standing guard to defend those ports. We will not have to worry about being invaded from the sea, for now."

Before Agravain could think of a quick response, a loud explosion drowned his words and the knights stood from their chairs in alarm. Only Arturia remained in her seat.

"That came from Merlin's study," Gawain announced with worry.

Arturia mentally sighed. _That damn magus and his idiotic experiments_.

"Ignore him," Arturia advised. The knights looked conflicted. "Knowing Merlin, he's probably meddling with something he has no knowledge of. We don't have the leisure to clean his messes."

The knights stood for a brief moment before they sat in their chairs slowly.

Arturia, with much reluctance, listened to where Agravian left off in their symposium that really seemed to be pointless.

The conflict with the Saxons had always existed, but it was always pushed in the back, like an unwanted book in a shelf. 

The limelight of their own prosperity had drawn the eyes of those filled with greed, so with meticulous preparation, the Saxons increased their numbers under the British noses, like rats swarming under the sewers, and they multiplied and multiplied until they had an army enough to equal thus a nation.

Arturia mused, she found it strangely and ridiculously humorous that in return for fucking Hengist's daughter, King Vortigern offered the Saxons the Kingdom of the Kentish. They used this as a foundation to expand their being there in Southern England and even when Vortigern perished under the hands of her uncle, Aurelius Ambrosius, the Saxons continued to glutton after their land, leading to a war which now was in her hands.

Really, she cursed the bane befallen to her kin. Her grandfather, for an example, was stabbed by a Pict, and one of her uncles, Constans, who was betrayed by his advisor and murdered, including Aurelius, who had not the chance to lead Britain before he was poisoned by an assassin, and lastly, her own father, King Uther, who had met the same fate as his brother when drinking from the tainted spring of which he drank from both palms.

She thought about how'd she meet her own end, whether through natural causes or foul play, but the scourge of her kindred had not echoed far, it haunted her, plaguing her with nightmares, illusions of what almost seemed to be what was waiting for her.

She was used to being awake during lonely nights, where she lay alone in bed, covered in false pretenses of fur covers which she tried to make into something which she could find solace in, but they were just empty voids of something that didn't belong.

Guinevere used to sleep with her, and Arturia missed that. She missed the warm arms that held her during those lonesome nights, she missed Guinevere's scent of pine, flowers, and the nature that had shared her time in the forest. She missed Guinevere's comforting words, like a mother to a child.

Arturia had pushed her away, the person who knew her more than anyone.

She didn't know how to compensate Guinevere for all those times she spent by her side, for all her kind, gentle words, for her presence, and even her faded redolence that sometimes Arturia could smell in her covers.

Guinevere and she were just poor souls. Damned and condemned to a fate where they’re only imitations of the hymns that seek mercy, forgiveness, and kindness from God. The church bells of nigh which seemed to grow farther and farther as she drifted away from her Lord.

She had prayed for absolution by her bed every night, sometimes all night, but the absence of answers, when no matter how much she prayed, pleaded, asked, when every time she woke with the same realization that nothing was going to change, had thus pushed her away from the light of God and from the gates of heaven, and into the bristles and thorns of a hellfire.

_In some way, she understood Guinevere._

Then, interrupting her thoughts, and Agravain's lecture, the wooden doors opened with the clang of the metal handles and groaning at the hinges, as one of her young knights, Gareth, shot in with a breathless,  _"King Arthur!"_

He panted, an obvious implication from running, and she waited wordlessly for an explanation. Counting millions of possibilities. 

_An official declaration of war with the Saxons? Had the harbors been overrun? Was the kingdom being invaded? How much time did they have?_

"Spit it out, Gareth," Agravain ordered in place of Arturia who didn't realize she had been holding her breath.

Gareth swallowed, and pushed down his evident panic, "There is someone on your throne, King Arthur, I was not able to identify him, but he demanded that I bring you to him."

Arturia's blood ran cold, _a blatant affront?_

She wasted no time in gathering her knights when she hurried into the throne room where she found a man clad in golden armor sitting leisurely on her throne.

Arturia scanned her surroundings, he seemed to be the only one present, other than her knights and herself. But she couldn't afford to lower her guard, there could be others hiding, waiting for a proper moment to launch an assault.

His arms were spread across the armrests as he crossed his legs in a sluggish manner. He was pale, like a newborn babe, and his blond hair was fashioned upward, and smoothed over. His eyes were crimson, like the color of blood and he looked like he stepped out of a painting, another dimension, another realm.

_He wasn't human_ , she deduced, but something make-believe.

_“Well, now, who is responsible for calling me to this dreary place?"_


	2. Kairos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You mock me by sitting on my throne, and now you insult me?” 
> 
> “Does that make you angry, little king?”

Arturia scrutinized the mysterious man on her throne.

He didn't look like a Saxon nor a Brit. He lacked the stocky and ginger traits of a Frank and didn't possess the stereotypical black hair of the Picts.

Traditionally, the old Germanic people usually donned in knee-length skirts, cloaks, robes, and normally traveled barefoot, but his golden armor screamed of royalty and high status.

"Identify yourself, _stranger_ ," she held the hilt of her sword, prepared to run him down in case he brought trouble.

His red eyes surveyed her band of knights, and then they sought her, "Is  _this_  the one that is king?" he rapped the armrest of the throne methodically, a snort of disbelief left him, "So, then, they allow little children to rule lands that  _rightfully_  belong to me?"

Arturia fingers curled around her grip on her sword, "You mock me by sitting on my throne, and now you insult me?"

"Does that make you angry, _little king?_ "

Having enough with his insolence, her sword screeched when she drew it out, the metal scratching against her scabbard, "I'm King Arthur, heir to King Uther Pendragon and Igraine. You will address me so."

He slowly got to his feet, his armor clanking loudly, arms wide open in a genial gesture, "Sheath your sword. I draw no weapons, as you can see."

He then moved towards her, slowly with measured steps, and she eyed him for any abrupt or unwanted actions.

She noticed from the corner of her eye that her knights began to formate a protective circle around her, but she threw her arm back to tell them to stay where they were.

They all looked uneasy, but she kept her eyes firmly on him.

He slithered like a snake, slitted eyes focused directly on her, fangs outstretched to claim his prey, but before he could strike, she was quicker.

Her sword flew to his breastplate, resting on his heart. Even though her sword could not pierce through gold, she wanted to make it clear enough that she would not tolerate any of his advances.

"Not _another_ step," she warned.

His lips curled upward to reveal his pearly whites, "There's no need for hostility. I merely wish to see your hand."

Arturia quirked her brow.  _Her hand?_

As if he read her thoughts, he chuckled, in spite of himself, “If you feel the need to, you can order your men to give me a once-over to put your mind at rest, _or_... you can check _yourself_ ,” 

Arturia narrowed her eyes, his words themselves weren’t meant to be suggestive, but his tone implied otherwise.

“I shall,” Arturia settled on the latter, her sword remained its position as she circled him, searching for any signs of concealed or hidden weapons, but she found none.

He looked pleased when she patted him down, and she could feel his insufferable smugness rolling off of him like waves. She clenched her teeth, contemplating the idea of driving her sword through him, but she relented.

When she was confident that he was clear, she stepped away from him, her gaze guarded, “I don’t trust you entirely, but you don’t seem to pose a threat,” 

She lowered her sword, praying it wasn’t the wrong move to make, removed her glove, and extended her hand to him. 

Her skin tingled when he reached for her right hand in his metal, steel grip and inspected her dorsal side, only to look disappointed when he found absolutely nothing. However, his eyes widened a fraction when he spotted the golden wedding band on her finger.

“What is the matter?" she inquired, her eyes narrowed and her grip on her sword tightened, ready to draw blood if necessary.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, and she was bathed in his sharp scent of myrrh, wine, and morning dew. The smells brought her back to times of carefree youth, picking berries and apples all day without bearing the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. 

When was the last time she’d eaten a ripe and fresh fruit? The warfare with the Saxons had laid waste to the once abundant grounds of Camelot, and the rich fields of crops were just empty, barren lands now. 

Arturia could almost taste the sweet, tenderness of a soft peach, melting on her lips and dripping like honey down her throat.

Perhaps, if peace is ever obtained, she could request for the gardeners to plant fruit trees in the castle garden, then Guinevere could make her delicious blueberry pie, even though she hadn’t set foot in the kingdom’s kitchen for months now. Arturia wondered if they could ever reconcile and go back to such times.

He opened his mouth for a response, but a loud and familiar voice interrupted them, making her just about jolt from slight shock. 

_"King Arthur!"_

Merlin came sprinting down the corridor, hair tousled, sweat dribbling down his brow, and chest heaving for oxygen. Arturia watched him double over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. She pulled her hand out of the golden-haired man's grasp after nothing he hadn't let go.

 

“Merlin,” she said stiffly, “Explain yourself,” 

Merlin feebly lifted his arm, red brands of some kind adorning his hand that immediately captured the golden-haired man’s attention.

"You reek of all sorts of enchantments,” he spoke, “you're a magus, aren't you?” 

Merlin lowered himself onto one knee, palm pressed against his breast in some form of worship and dipped his head, "You are correct, I'm Court Magus Merlin. It's an honor,  _King Gilgamesh_."

" _'King Gilgamesh'?_ " Lancelot shouldered his way through, and for a moment, Arturia forgot about her knights clustered not far away, "We have not received any news about this,”

Arturia raised her hand for a moment of silence, then took a deep breath, and exhaled, “Merlin, since you seem to be acquainted with our new and unexpected guest, I'd appreciate if you'd tell me why I wasn’t informed of his arrival.” 

Merlin rose, brushing his garments, "You see, King Arthur, he's not actually here, in that sense, but brought into our time through magic."

"What does that mean?" Lancelot demanded, going to stand next to her.

"It means that, King Gilgamesh is actually thousands of years old, and by all means, dead. But through the work of magecraft, he was given a functioning body and was sort-of reborn.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Arturia scoffed at the complete nonsense she’d just heard, “ _‘Dead’?_ The dead are irrevocable,” 

“I believed that as well,” Merlin explained, “however, he’s living proof. This might be a breakthrough, Arthur, perhaps this is just what we needed,”

“No,” she stated firmly, “this is against the laws of nature. We humans, we are created to live and die, we are not immortals. I forbid you to experiment any further,” 

Merlin looked as if he’d more to say, but complied, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

“Now, what to do with you,” she cast Gilgamesh a sideways glimpse, and appealed to her knights, “Any ideas?”

Agravain lurked around, brooding as his black cape dragging across the stone ground, “I say we order him to go back to where he belongs. I fear for our king’s safety. This man is uncharted waters, and I, personally, don’t like things I can’t understand," 

Gilgamesh bared his teeth like a mighty lion, a throaty growl forming in his throat.

Bedivere nodded, his usually gentle turquoise eyes were now filled with worry, “I have to agree with Sir Agravain, we don’t know who to believe anymore,” he shot Gilgamesh an apologetic glance who chuckled menacingly.

“You mongrels are overbearingly obnoxious.” 

Gawain furrowed his brows, “Are you mocking us?” 

“As if I would waste my breath on a pitiful lot like you,”

Agravain rapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, as if he were intentionally goading him, “You should watch your mouth, foreigner. You're surrounded by men of the finest caliber, ready on instinct to strike you down to defend our honor, only when the king decrees it.” 

“I’d like to see you try, _mutt_ ,” 

The offense was a direct blow, and Agravain immediately whipped out his sword, pushing past Arturia and aimed for Gilgamesh’s exposed neck, “I’ll cut out your tongue and have the maids wash it throughly, clearly it’s covered in filth and grime. A proper cleansing will do the trick.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Arturia commanded sharply, and the room went eerily silent from her piercing tone, “Separate those two, _now_ ,” 

The knights seized Agravain by the arms, who shook them off angrily and huffed. However, no one dared to approach Gilgamesh, who only needed to give them a death glare, and they scurried away.

Arturia was sure she was seething enough to blow steam from her ears, and the tension in the room spiked. Merlin tugged at his collar, as if he felt hot and sweaty.

Arturia turned to Agravain, whom she trusted to be most sensible and reasonable, however, he only added fuel to the fire with his antics.

"Where is your self-restraint and composure?! You disgrace your name, Sir Agravain, as well as your title as a Knight of the Round!”

Agravain bit back a comment, knowing arguing will only infuriate her more. 

"And _you!_ _”_ Arturia whirled around and forced her blazing green eyes onto Gilgamesh, “how dare you scorn my knights in such a manner?!"

"Your knights should be tethered to leashes, and muzzled like the hounds they are. They know nothing of respect, and I can only _imagine_ where they get it from. During my rule, the punishment for insolence towards the king was _death_."

Arturia's fingers found the handle of her blade and she gripped it tightly, his words chilling her to the bone, "Are you _threatening_ me?” 

Gilgamesh took a step closer.  _Too close._

"Are you afraid, little king?"

A vein throbbed in Arturia's forehead, "I told you not to call me that,"

Gilgamesh leaned into her face. The height difference was like a slap in the face.

"You can't command me like I'm one of your loyal dogs,"

“Speak of my knights that way one more time and I will show you no mercy," Arturia hissed through her teeth.

"I can say whatever I want to whomever I want, and that includes your faithful hounds.” 

Arturia was a second away from plunging her sword into him, if not for Lancelot resting a warm hand on her shoulder, and bringing her back to her senses, "Arthur, calm yourself,"

She was snapped out of her bloodlust, and crushed her hand to her head, a ripple of electrifying shock from her migraine made her dizzy, and she almost lost her footing, if not for Lancelot supporting her with his body that she unintentionally leaned into.

“Are you all right, Arthur?” Lancelot murmured, and she nodded, stumbling to get her balance back.

“I’m fine,” Arturia snapped, then scowled at Gilgamesh who in turn, seemed irked and tutted, "You are treading a thin line, little king, and it's testing my patience,"

Arturia's blood boiled. _Entitled priss._

Merlin intervened before Arturia could pounce on him like a wild dog, " _Now, now,_ let's not get at each other's throats, King Gilgamesh is here to grant us his assistance,  _that is_ , if we have his consent,"

"'Assistance'?" Lancelot repeated, confused, "Then, he's an ally?"

Agravain stepped forward, sarcastic, "What can one man do against the Saxons? Unless his soldiers were also resurrected through your magic, Merlin,"

Then squabbles followed, and the knights bickered like children. She cleared her throat, having enough of this unbecoming display, " _Cease this right now_ , all of you. I will have no more arguing. We shall discuss this later."

 

She felt Gilgamesh's gaze burn into her back when she turned around to leave, but she didn't dare to meet his eyes. 

  _____________________________________________

"Arthur?"

Arturia recognized the voice. It was Lancelot.

"What is it, my friend?"

He joined her by her side, concern in his violet gaze, "Are you all right? Your sudden leave left me worried,"

“I'm fine," Arturia consoled him, "However, I believe that Gilgamesh could prove to be troublesome one day,"

"Do you think he already knows?" Lancelot said very quietly while looking down at her.

Arturia clutched her dark blue dress tighter, "He didn't make a note of it, but he did seem shocked by my engagement ring, maybe he caught on to something?"

"I'm sure he didn't presume you to be married, you do look quite young for wedlock."

"I hope so."

They walked down the corridors together as their arms brushed one another.

"How is Guinevere?" Arturia asked quietly, treading a careful line concerning her wife.

“She’s not ill, _thankfully_ , but she’s feeling rather lonely these days.” 

"Does she get out often?"

“Of course, although, she’s been asking for you lately,"

“ _Me?_ Why?” she titled her head in confusion. 

“Don’t play coy, Arthur, you know why,"

“I do _not_ , so stop speaking in riddles, Lancelot, and be out with it,”

“She misses you.” 

Arturia blinked, not expecting the blunt and straightforward response, “Oh, that, yes. Well, we’ve been drifting apart lately, so I wasn’t sure she wanted to see me.”

“Guinevere wondered if you could spare some time for her,"

“She couldn’t ask me that herself?"

“You’re so busy, so she couldn’t find the right time,"

“Ah, well, she isn’t in the wrong. I’ve been so occupied lately...”

“Then, it’s a no?"

Arturia laid a hand on his shoulder, warm and familiar, “For now, I must focus on on my duties, nevertheless, Lancelot, I trust you to make her smile during these troubling times. You can do this one thing for me, can't you?"

"If that is enough, then I will make sure that a smile will always grace the Queen's lips," Lancelot promised.

Arturia slid her hand away from his shoulder, thankful for his understanding, "You are a good friend, Lancelot."

"I always hope to be, Arthur," Lancelot dipped his head.

When both friends parted ways, a hidden figure behind a column couldn't hold back a wicked grin after overhearing such a scandalous conversation between the two and turned away with a swish of their cape.

_"Morgan is going to love this."_


	3. Confessions Of A King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, there are thirteen books in this collection. I’ve read all of them. The Confessions of Saint Augustine. A man, who never saw himself as holy, devoted his life wholly to correcting his sins, so that he could become an example of redemption to his followers. I like that. The selflessness act of one who wished to right his wrongs.”

Arturia tossed and turned in bed. Her golden locks sticking to her clammy skin. She made small whimpering sounds in her sleep, and clutched the sheets in her palms, knuckles gone white.

_She dreamt of a bloody hill heaped with fallen soldiers, a blazing fire that torched the ravaged land, and black ravens that circled the sky like vultures, ready to pick off the dead._

_She stood at the summit of the hillock; her blue dress painted scarlet, and her mighty blade abandoned in all its glory. In her hands, a lance of pure white, that pierced the heart of a warrior shielded in silver armor whose helm cracked and fell apart._

_There unveiled a face, an imitation of her own. Unruly flaxen tresses and a pair of identical green eyes that never left hers. Anger flared in her gaze, along with regret, and pain._

_Those eyes reflected the downfall of Camelot; an end of an era, reduced to embers and ruin. A legend made and destroyed. A crown to rust, a throne to rubble, and a kingdom to ashes._

_Then she felt sharp pain in her abdomen, and she looked down only to see a sword, one she recognized, Clarent, run through her abdomen._

_Crimson trickled in sundered rivulets over the silver metal surface, unlike the gush of blood from the cavity she drew from her copycat that collapsed at her feet._

_A moment later, Arturia swayed, dropping the spear, and falling to her knees. She clasped her hand over her wound, but it escaped through her fingers, and pooled around her at an alarming rate._

_She lay dying in her own blood, misery, and tears. All alone. Her greatest fallacy died with her, and so did the dream she tried so hard to salvage._

She must’ve begun to scream, because once she snapped open her eyes and sat upright, her throat felt sore and scratchy. Her body felt hot all over, and in her slight delirium, she noticed some weight on the edge of her mattress, and spotted a familiar set of hazel eyes gazing at her.

“Guinevere,” Arturia whispered hoarsely.

“You’ve been crying,” she confirmed, with a careful undertone.

Arturia touched her cheeks, and found them to be wet with tears she hadn't known she shed. The salty aftertaste lingering in her mouth as she wiped them away with her sleeve.

“What brings you to my quarters?”

Guinevere held a chamber stick in her hand, the dancing flame illuminated her fair features; auburn curls that fell around her shoulders, soft snow white skin, and flecks of green, amber, and blue in her irises. 

“I came to check on you after hearing your screams,” she confessed, kneading her nightgown, “you looked miserable, with tears running down your face as you screamed your lungs out, and thrashed around wildly. I didn’t know what else to do but to wake you. Forgive me if I was wrong to do so.” She moved presumably to leave, but Arturia stopped her by grasping the fabric of her gown and tugging her back.

She didn’t want to be alone, and she missed Guinevere, more than she could say. If only for a little, she wanted to go back to how things used to be, with Guinevere’s arms enveloping her and pulling her to her chest, falling asleep with her when nights were too tough to handle on her own, and calming her with kind words as she caressed her hair and wrapped her in her flowery scent.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” 

Arturia had said it so quietly, that she barely even heard her own voice. 

After she’d spoken, the room became quiet until Guinevere's garments rustled as she set the chamber stick on the nightstand and sat beside Arturia, who melted in her embrace, head between her petite breasts, with her heartbeat that thrummed against Arturia's cheek.

Arturia pulled her down against the fur covers and downy pillows, and snuggled warmly in her arms, “Please stay with me,” 

Guinevere hummed, entangling her fingers in Arturia’s golden hair, “I’ll stay with you 'till you fall asleep,”

“Stay with me even after that,” Arturia murmured, eyes fluttering drowsily, “Stay until the morning,” 

“I will,” Guinevere promised, tucking Arturia into the covers, “now sleep.”

When Arturia woke up, Guinevere was gone.

  _____________________________________________

Gilgamesh reclined on a chair, one leg thrown over the other as his eyes scanned a list of texts. He found refuge in a small library, and cozied himself in a change of clothes; sporting a loose white tunic, all while indulging in himself with a glass of wine and a book.

There was a knock at the door, and he grumbled, not bothering to look up from his reading and acknowledge the intruder, “I’m busy. Go away.”

“It’s Arthur,” came a faint voice on the opposite side of the door, and Gilgamesh dragged his eyes away from the book to the doorway. 

“Come in.” 

The knob of the door turned, and the door clicked open. Arturia stood by the threshold, garbed in her traditional blue dress. Golden hair tied in a chignon, with a ribbon holding it together. Pensive jade eyes that observed the mound of books heaped on the table next to him.

“I didn’t take you as a person who is interested in matters like books,” she remarked. 

He shrugged, his robe sliding off his shoulder as a result of the action, “Because I seem like a man who craves only conflict and war?”

When her eyes moved from his face down to his neck, wandering to his mostly uncovered, peachy skin, she averted her gaze; a look of barely concealed shyness crossed her features.

“Literature is knowledge and knowledge is _power_.” Gilgamesh admitted, setting to book down on his lap, “I spent the whole night divulging every word in these books, reading them until I was satisfied, and so, I suppose, in a way, my nature remains the same. I desired the pursuit of power, both body and mind. I must be above others; to guide, to teach, and to lead. That is the way I ruled, and it was put down in books so that kings like you can dream to become kings like me.” 

“What kind of king were you?” Arturia inquired, going to stand in front of a bookcase, fingers hovering over the books.

“I was young and brash when I first took the throne. I saw kingship as a luxury; power and wealth to be used in any way I wanted. I challenged the authority of the Gods, and they molded a beast out of clay to put me in my place. We fought for seven days and nights. Our battle was _glorious_ , that it even rattled the mighty heavens above. We concluded it a draw, and I named him my one and only equal. We had great adventures, him and I. I was content with him by my side, and my city flourished, with ramparts that kept my subjects safe from menaces. My people had never known of hunger or thirst. Uruk was a haven, and it was  _beautiful_. However, all things eventually come to an end, even the things we cherish so dearly.” 

Arturia stood perfectly still, hand in the air, “Do you regret it?” 

“The end? No. I lifted Uruk higher than any star in the sky, that no one could ever hope to reach it. That outcome had been enough for me.” 

“Then, you understand how important it is for me to keep my kingdom safe as well.”

Gilgamesh rose from the chair, his long robes trailing on the ground with him, the book in his hands, “You know, there are thirteen books in this collection. I’ve read all of them. _The Confessions of Saint Augustine_. A man, who never saw himself as holy, devoted his life wholly to correcting his sins, so that he could become an example of redemption to his followers. I like that. The selflessness act of one who wished to right his wrongs.” 

Gilgamesh gilded his long, elegant fingers across the spines of the books, his gait unhurried and sedate. Arturia’s eyes followed him.

“Piety to God is about submitting yourself wholly to a belief, even abandoning who you once were for absolution,” Arturia confessed, “I believe that’s what makes him admirable.” 

Gilgamesh glanced towards her, “Aren’t the kings of your age similar in that manner?"

Arturia thought of Vortigern. A despicable and repulsive tyrant whom robbed the British throne from under Constantine, her grandfather, and exiled her father and uncle to secure his claim to the throne. A pagan with no sense of morals or decency. A man whom only served himself because he couldn’t keep his own dick in his pants. 

“Not all of them,” Arturia admitted, “Some are oppressive, greedy, and self-serving with no ounce of honor or nobility. It’s despots like that whom lead kingdoms to ruins, that, or incompetent ones.” 

“Where would you place yourself in that order?” 

Arturia shrugged, “That entirely depends of what my people have to say of me. A man is no king if his people do not love him. A kingdom may be ruled by kings and queens, however, what is there to rule if your people refuse to serve you?” 

“But all rules end, do they not?” 

“Of course,” Arturia said, “nevertheless, no king wishes for his kingdom to fall in tragedy, if possible, a king desires to fall in the heat of battle, or a peaceful rest, knowing he served his subjects well.” 

“The result is the same.”

“Yes, that might be,” Arturia agreed, “however, your kingdom blossomed, and withered like a flower in its time. Is that not a beautiful end?”  

“Indeed it was.”

Gilgamesh then saw her in a different light. She wasn’t some, imprudent little king with pretty little ideals. She was wise beyond her age, even if she was a bit naive, she thought of her kingdom with every judgement she made, placing the country she loved more than life before herself. That was something he could respect.

“Why have you come here?” Gilgamesh made his way over to her, resplendent scarlet eyes seeing right through her as if she was made of glass, “Certainly not to idly chatter, I imagine.” 

Arturia stood proud, despite her height, “You are a warrior as much as you are a king. I can see it in your eyes. You enjoy books and literature, as much as you lust war and conflict. You can’t live without both. It’s in your nature."

“A balance.” Gilgamesh stated matter-of-factly, “As long as there is an equilibrium between good and bad, everything will continue as it is. Tip too much onto one side, it’ll become chaos.”

“A balance,” Arturia repeated, closing her eyes, “Camelot needs balance, more than anything right now.” 

Gilgamesh circled her, “And going to war is the solution to that?” 

“We don’t plan on going to war if we can avoid it,” Arturia informed him, “unless absolutely necessary if our negotiations go south.”

“What negotiations?” Gilgamesh questioned, narrowing his eyes.

“The Saxon chiefs used to be brothers Hengist and Horsa. However, they are no longer among us. They had no heir, and therefore, nobody ascended to the throne.”

“So, there is no leader?” Gilgamesh deduced.

“Not one I’ve heard of. The Saxons are now just made up of remaining colonies. There must be somebody governing them, since they have been following orders from someone to invade us. I offered them a piece of land to stop the war, however, they said they needed time to consider.” 

Gilgamesh hummed, “I understand now.”

Arturia nodded, “I will notify you if there are any changes.” 

“Very well. One more thing,”

Arturia tipped her head in confusion, and Gilgamesh tossed the book at her. With her quick and honed reflexes, she caught it gracefully.

“It will do you some good to catch up on some of his works,” he suggested, and with that, he retreated from the library, leaving Arturia to her own devices.

She opened the book and flipped through the pages of the book, until she came across fingerprint-like imprint on a page that had smudged a sentence.

_“_ _Everything on which I set my gaze was death._ _”_

It was the fourth book out of thirteen, that told the account of when Augustine had lost a dear friend, and lapsed into a state of grief where everything that he had loved, had become nothing but detestable to him.

Arturia placed the books beside the others, no longer wondering what happened to the friend Gilgamesh had spoken so tenderly of.

_“All things eventually come to an end, even the things we cherish so dearly.”_


	4. The Green Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What sort of king are you if you don’t partake with your men? Tales of bravery and courage are spun, drinks are shared among common ground. We laugh, we boast, and we grow closer together. Especially since your country is in such desperate times, you need to hearten your men, and show them that even if warfare, there will always be cause for celebration. You will grow distant from them if you prevail in your lonesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes in the last chapter because I wasn’t satisfied with how it came out, so there’s that. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m featuring a new character from Le Morte D’Arthur by Mallory Thomas. He’ll appear in the next chapter, so let’s see if y'all can guess who it is!

Arturia was so immersed in writing her letters, that she didn’t detect Gilgamesh walk in until he announced his presence by lightly rapping on her open door.

Her head snapped up, quill dipped in ink, “Gilgamesh.” 

“Oh? What happened to formalities?”

Arturia rolled her eyes, gaze drawn back to her letters, “You’re one to talk.”

Gilgamesh chuckled, leaning his body casually against the frame of the doorway, arms crossed, “You’re so droll, you know that, little king?” 

The corners of Arturia’s mouth twitched, “And yet, you continue to contradict yourself.” 

She heard the rustling of his garments as he approached, making a beeline towards to her table. Arturia felt feverish all of a sudden as he stood by her chair, leaning forward and examining her papers, “What’s this?” 

Her gaze unwittingly traveled to his clothes; a ‘v’ shape in the center of his breast, sleeves fuller at the bottom and gathered into a cuff, pants hugging around his waist. She only now saw how tight the clothing was on him, which left little to imagine. 

Arturia pushed away her impure thoughts, and shook her head slightly, which Gilgamesh noticed, “Letters.”

“To whom?” 

“An old friend, King Pellinore. His days of combat are over, however, he’s concerned the Saxons will invade Listeneise for the Holy Grail.”  

Gilgamesh scoffed, “So much fuss over a chalice.”

“It’s not just a ‘chalice’,” she chided gently, “for us, it’s more than that.” 

“Because it received the blood of your Christ during his crucification?” Gilgamesh placed his hands on his hips, “or perhaps, it’s the wish granting aspect?” 

Arturia pursed her lip, “I have nothing to seek from the Grail.” 

“ _Nothing?”_ Gilgamesh probed, looking incredulous.

“Nothing.” Arturia asserted firmly.

Gilgamesh looked unconvinced, however, soft footsteps lured their attention to the door, where Guinevere stood by the threshold.

“Guinevere,” Arturia rose from her chair, smoothing her dress that was bunched up around her thighs.

“Arthur,” Guinevere curtseyed, hazel eyes fluttering towards Gilgamesh whose his scarlet eyes lit up with curiosity at the sight of her. 

“Gilgamesh, this is my queen, Guinevere,” Arturia’s regal tone returned, “Guinevere, this is Gilgamesh. He’s my... _liability_.”

Gilgamesh chose to ignore the mockery beneath her words, “Won’t you come a little closer?”

Guinevere tentatively padded over to him, her dress swishing the floor, auburn curls bouncing with each step. Gilgamesh took her hand, lightly kissing her knuckles in a show of courtesy. Arturia didn’t mind such a gesture, having witnessed Guinevere be courted by many men, even after their marriage. However, something in her snapped at the sight of Gilgamesh kissing Guinevere’s hand. It wasn’t jealously, Arturia convinced herself she didn’t possess such affectionate feelings towards Guinevere that would invoke possessiveness, she was sure of it.

“I'm not yet accustomed to the ways of your people,” Gilgamesh interrupted her thoughts as he spoke to Guinevere, “although, it’s hardly a matter when it comes to a beautiful woman like yourself.”

Guinevere bobbed her head shyly, “I’ve heard much about you,” 

Gilgamesh parted his lips to speak, but Arturia cleared her throat, cutting off whatever he wanted to say, “My queen, is there anything I can do for you?”

Guinevere blinked, suddenly remembering the reason for why she’d stopped by for a visit. She pulled out a letter, and shuffled closer to Arturia, handing her the envelope, “The wax seal is royalty, therefore, it was brought directly to you.”

Arturia took the letter, examining the red seal. It was unquestionably a royal pendant, however, the coat of arms was foreign to her. She used her paper knife to tear open the envelope, gently pulling out the nestled letter and looked it over.

_“King Arthur,”_ Arturia read aloud, _“It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you. Have you missed me? Nay, I think not. You must loathe me for all I’ve done. I do not hold it against you. However, you must wonder, wherefore I write this letter. You have no need to ponder. I write to you cordially. I’ve heard of the Saxon menace stirring trouble within the lands of Britain. I offer a solution to your predicament. When the time comes, I hope you welcome me with open arms. Signed, yours truly.”_

As Guinevere peered over Arturia’s shoulder, her scent of rosemary made Arturia giddy, “The letter wasn’t signed?”

“Apparently not.” Arturia sighed, a wave of her usual migraine coming on. 

“Do you have any idea whom it might be from?”

Arturia traced back to olden times, attempting to remember where she’d seen the seal once, however, nothing came to mind.

“Not one.” 

“What should we do now?” Guinevere kneaded her dress, hazel eyes searching hers. 

“Pass the letter around, see if anyone recognizes anything.” 

“Of course,” Guinevere excused herself from the room, leaving the kings alone once more. 

“I should caution you, Guinevere is off limits.” Arturia said once she was out of earshot, “Don’t think I didn’t catch on. I know what you’re trying to do.” 

Gilgamesh toyed absentmindedly with the trinkets on her shelves, craning his neck to look back at her, “No need to be stingy now.” 

“Watch yourself, Gilgamesh,” she warned, making her way towards him, “you might’ve felt entitled to all the woman in your past life, however, this is Camelot. There are laws for these sorts of things.” 

Gilgamesh flicked the glass mold of a lion, nearly tipping it over, “You’re such a bore.”

“I thought I was so droll?” Arturia snatched the figurine, and set it down safely onto her desk.

Gilgamesh looked petulant, like a child, and Arturia rolled her eyes.

A maid then knocked on the door, bowing politely, “Your Majesties, supper is waiting for you.”

“Tell the cooks to bring it over to my quarters,” Arturia requested, “I shall dine alone.” 

Gilgamesh nudged her, “Oh, com’on, Arthur, a feast should be shared among men, should it not?” 

Arturia quirked her brow, rather taken aback by his invitation, “I have work to finish,” she motioned at the unwritten letter on her desk, “I can’t possibly fool around right now,” 

“What sort of king are you if you don’t partake with your men? Tales of bravery and courage are spun, drinks are shared among common ground. We laugh, we boast, and we grow closer together. Especially since your country is in such desperate times, you need to hearten your men, and show them that even in warfare, there will always be cause for celebration. You will grow distant from them if you prevail in your lonesome.” Gilgamesh countered, persistent. 

When Arturia eventually gave in, Gilgamesh looked triumphant. 

_____________________________________________

_“My King!”_

The knights were absolutely shellshocked when Arturia and Gilgamesh entered the dining hall and scrambled towards them to bow in the presence of the kings. 

“There’s no need for that,” Arturia assured them, looking around, “I wish to dine with you all, if you’ll have me.”

They blinked, and stood motionless for a heartbeat until they swarmed her, pulling her towards the table and sitting her down, pushing jugs of fizzy ale and trays of poultry towards her as offerings. Gilgamesh sat not so far away, observing the scene amusedly as the knights spoiled their king. 

Bedivere slid a plate carrying bread and meat towards Gilgamesh, and set a cup down, filled with frothy beer, “Camelot has little to offer in such impoverished times. I apologize if it’s not to your taste.”

Gilgamesh eyed the meal, “Is this all your men are served?”

“Yes.” 

“That's something I can undoubtedly fix.”

Gilgamesh snapped his fingers, opening up his treasury, which did not go unnoticed by the knights, and set the table with golden platters of bounty, rich and exotic foods decorated the spread, tall pitchers of sparkling wine and bowls of an arrangement of fruits left no room anything else. The knights gaped at the food, and weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I have never seen anything like it,” Aglovale was engrossed by the crimson orange he clutched in his hand, and showed it to his fellow men.

“That’s a pomegranate,” Gilgamesh informed, reaching forward for an apricot, “I suggest you cut it open and have a look on the inside,”

The knight did as he suggested, and gathered together to crack it open. They gasped as the red seeds fell out, some still embedded in the pits of flesh.

“Let me see it,” Arturia’s eyes were intrigued, and when they brought the fruit to her, she popped a seed in her mouth, only to flutter her eyelashes in wonder, “It’s _sour_ , and _sweet_ ,” 

The knights all took a single seed, and hums of approval spread among them. 

Gilgamesh poured himself a cup of wine and leaned back into his chair, “Help yourselves,” 

The knights one-by-one sampled the grapes, plums, figs, pears, and dates, and the dining hall became alive with carols as the knights guzzled down the feast, drowning themselves in  _‘the wine without imperfections’_ , as they called it. However, Gilgamesh noticed that the dark knight was absent. 

A knight wobbled on his feet, a jug of alcohol raised in the air, “I have a tale to tell, if I may,” 

“Go ahead, Gawain,” Arturia warbled, a dumb smile spread across her face, cheeks flushed from tipsiness. 

“So,” Gawain slurred, “do you all remember the tale of the Green Knight?” 

The knights broke out into a discourse, grumbles of chagrin scattered fast. 

“We’ve heard it a thousand times!” one yelled.

“Oh, shut it, you _bloody_ wanker!” Gawain shouted back, stumbling on his feet.

Gilgamesh sat up, interested, “I’d like to hear it,”

“See?” Gawain sounded smug, “King Gilgamesh knows a good story when he hears one, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The tale of the Green Knight. So, you see, some fellow walks into the kingdom, saying all sorts of bloody things, but there was this one part that was, fair enough to say, _odd_.”

“He always says it like that, ‘ _odd’_ ,” a knight muttered, mimicking the last part.

“He said that someone can strike him with an axe, you see, but only if that someone receives the same strike. Arthur here,” Gawain motions to his king, “accepted the challenge, but I wouldn’t let him, so I took his place.” 

“How _brave_ ,” one mumbled condescendingly.

Gawain continued, unbothered, “Of course, I sliced his head clean off, but the wanker lives and picks up his severed head and leaves. I says, I have to fulfill my side of the challenge, and so, I go on my journey. I met a man and his wife living in a castle. That man made me a deal, you hear? He told me, all that he hunts, he will hand over to me for anything I take from within his castle. I didn’t think nothing of it, however, his wife, you see, attempts to seduce me. Of course, it was never requited, but the woman kissed me. I had no choice but the surrender the kiss to her husband, whom handed me some of the carcasses he’d caught in return.”

Gilgamesh burst out into a laugh, “How humiliating!” 

“Indeed it was,” Gawain agreed, “my last day at the castle, the wife gave me three kisses and a girdle that she claimed would protect me from death. I gave the husband his due, however, I did not return the girdle. I then set off to find the Green Knight, and you know what happened? I did, and we agreed to a dual. He struck me _three_ times, however, only the third strike was enough to draw blood. I held my end of the bargain and prepared to head home, however, the Green Knight revealed himself to be none other than the husband!” 

Gilgamesh looked eager to hear more, and Arturia rested her cheek in her palm, watching the two interact.

“The husband had told me I was worthy, due to facing the challenge, even if it meant my death, however, the fib I told about the girdle was the reason why he needed to draw blood. And you know what else? The woman who claimed to be his wife, was none other than my own mother! Could you believe it? Her magic disguised him, and made the wanker look like he was decapitated! I kept the girdle with me as a reminder, and a valuable lesson. I haven’t told a lie since.” 

Gilgamesh patted the back of the young knight, and poured him some more wine. The knights seemed to get along well with Gilgamesh, even after the altercation of a few days ago. They drunkenly sung as brothers-in-arms, and spent the night away recounting stories, forgetting the Saxons and all their troubles.

Arturia pulled up a chair beside Gilgamesh, and lifted her cup to his, “What shall we drink to?”

“To the guaranteed victory of your kingdom now that I’ve come to save you?” 

Arturia punched him on the arm, and Gilgamesh chortled, almost spilling his wine, “All right, all right, I’ll think of something else,”

“Thank you,” Arturia said unexpectedly, her voice uncharacteristically soft, “For convincing me. It really helped.”

“As I said,” Gilgamesh clinked his cup to hers, “It brings us closer,” 

“Yes,” Arturia agreed, “I believe it has.” 

_____________________________________________

“Have you brought what I needed?” 

A woman, covered in a black veil, looked upon her visitor, whom held a box in his hands. 

“Yes.” 

“Hand it to me.”

He approached her, setting the box into her hands. She removed the top, and grinned wickedly, pulling out a necklace of lapis lazuli, made of blue and golden pigments. 

Her visitor narrowed his eyes, "I still don't understand why you ordered me to retrieve something as trival as a necklace,” 

"You don't understand because that isn't what I asked of you,” she looked closely at the small fractures in the stone, gently cradling it as if it could break any moment. 

"Humor me, Morgan le Fay, do you not have enough jewels to satisfy yourself?"

“This is not for me to wear, _idiot_ ," she sharply corrected him, “this necklace is meant as a catalyst.” 

"For what?" Her visitor inquired.

Morgan commanded her guards to push aside the table in the middle of the room, where she briskly outlined a red incantation circle in the center. She placed the lapis lazuli necklace on the ground in the heart of the red circle, “This necklace possesses a connection to a spirit of long past. I will call upon them, and with my magic, I shall bring them back to life.” 

“Forgive me if I ask too many questions, however, why exactly are you doing this?”

Morgan cackled, “Why, of course, to take back the throne that is rightfully mine.”

“I don’t understand,” 

“In due time,” Morgan affirmed, “You shall. You can stay here and witness the ceremony. I will make the Saxons seem like child's play compared to what forces Arthur is going to have to suffer soon.”


End file.
